


Surprise! It's a Stripper!

by atothej



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atothej/pseuds/atothej
Summary: Bucky, in the tradition of Best Men the world over, lines up a stripper cake for Steve's bachelor party. In the end, the joke's on Bucky, though.





	Surprise! It's a Stripper!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr as a prompt fill.
> 
> **loonyloopylisa:** _I didn’t ask for a naked guy in a cake!_

From his spot propped up against the bar, already two drinks in and working quickly through his third, Bucky frowns as he takes in Steve’s expression. “You seem surprised,” he says, a shade of confusion leaking in because Bucky knows Steve better than he knows himself, but he hadn’t known Steve was going to react like this. “But like, bad-surprised.”

“Of course I am!” Steve splutters, his little stick arms flailing about spastically, causing Sam to duck away from him in self-preservation. “Why the hell would you think this is what I wanted?”

“Uh, ‘cause it’s a bachelor party?”

(Bucky would figure he’d miscalculated epically here somehow, except through the faint haze settling in over his thoughts, he recalls that he did in fact plan this all very carefully, specifying that the cake should be rolled in right about the time Stevie was riding that fine line between happy-drunk and fight-me-drunk. It’s hardly his fault Sam distracted him somewhere along the way to the bar. Granted, the high-on-orgasm factor should have been plenty to off-set any timing issues, so Bucky’s honestly not sure what went wrong here.)

“You know, party equals cake,” Bucky continues after a hardy sip of his drink--it's got a coconutty aftertaste that's actually quite nice; he's been debating bugging the bartender for the recipe. “So bachelor party equals stripper cake.”

“Mm. Obviously.” Sam nods sagely from next to Steve, and Bucky gestures at him emphatically, because he might be a sassy, pedantic shit that Bucky can’t stand most of the time, but the dude _gets it_.

“I didn’t ask for a _naked guy in a cake!_ ” Steve hollers in affront, his giant man-hand fists balled up and his face edging into that territory of too-red.

“Alright, fair,” Bucky placates as he ditches his glass–-mostly empty now anyway–-in favor of clambering to his feet to make his unsteady way the couple feet over to Steve so that he can pat his shoulder consolingly. “But are you really complaining?”

“ _Yes_! I am! Right now!” Steve shouts incredulously. “This is me complaining about the naked guy in a cake!” Turning away from Bucky and towards his fiancé, Steve explains, wide-eyed, “Sam, I swear to you, I did _not_ ask for a naked guy in cake.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Sam replies with a chest-deep chuckle. “I believe you. ‘Sides, I think the only one with anything to worry about here is fixing to be Bucky.”

Face scrunching up in befuddlement, Bucky asks, “What?”

Which is quickly followed up by Stevie’s blank: “Huh?”

In response, Sam just points back behind where they’re gathered at the bar to the open space that had been cleared of tables and chairs for the naked-man-sized-cake to sit, the cake that Bucky had sadly been distracted from when the music had started up and the top had exploded out, because that’s when Stevie’d blown his gasket.

Bucky and Steve both pivot in sync to look back at the cake now, and there, protruding from the top of it, washboard abs sporadically covered in dollops of icing is–-

“Babe?”

Bucky’s beginning to question what exactly it was the bartender tossed in those drinks now.

Shoulders hunched self-consciously, Clint raises one hand in a sad attempt at a wave and says, “Uh, hi?”

Bucky’s a little stuck on the fact that his boyfriend just popped out of a stripper cake he ordered for his best friend’s bachelor party, so he feels a wee-bit justified that he only manages to wave stiltedly back.

“So, this seems awkward,” Clint continues, his arms (his really, extraordinarily beefy arms, which Bucky waxes poetic about most mornings when he’s confronted with them right out of the shower) inching in across his lovely chest, which is a crying shame to cover up, Bucky has _told him this_. “This is awkward, right? It’s not just me?”

“You said you had to work tonight!” Bucky grouses with a sudden scowl.

“I mean, I am?” Clint’s eyes go wide and round as he blinks around at the room as a whole large and Bucky in particular, absently waving down at the cake he’s still incased in from the waist down. “At work right now?”

Bucky throws his arms up in the air in a drunken over-display of his exasperation. “And somehow it’s never the hell come up that you’re a stripper?”

“Uh, well, I feel like your angry reaction right now should clue you in to why that’s a thing…?” Clint trails off uncertainly.

“Of course I’m angry!" Bucky exclaims, eyes wide and balance suddenly unsteady enough that he has to reach back behind him for the bar top. "You totally lied about being able to dance! How many times have I asked you to go out dancing with me, huh? And every time, _every goddamn time,_ you’re all ‘Aw, naw, Buck, I can’t dance.’”

“Well, I mean, I really can’t?” Clint’s stance opens up in that accidental way it always does when he forgets to be embarrassed about one thing because something else embarrassing just crossed his mind. One hand goes back to rub restlessly over the close-shaved hair at the back of his head, where Bucky knows he keeps his hair constantly buzzed because it keeps that patch soft and fuzzy and comforting. “I mostly just bank on people being too distracted by my clothes coming off to pay much attention to how my body’s actually moving.”

Bucky’s left gaping in the wake of this confession because he’s been up close and personal with Clint undressing before and he can concur that this is an accurate assessment, except–-

Beside him, Steve scoffs and breaks in with, “He’s not actually mad at you, Barton. His brain’ll reboot in a second, and then he’ll probably feed you some cheesy line about scoring a private lap dance–-”

“I mostly get caught out by your smile,” Bucky admits, point-blank and probably too honest.

The sound of Steve smacking his palm over his face is too loud in the sudden silence. “-–Or that.”

“Yeah?” Clint asks all quiet and vulnerable, his lips tipping up in just that way that–-yup, that’s a Clint-smile, Bucky’s a goner.

He gulps around a rocky, “Yeah.”

“Right, come on, Sam,” Steve says, elbowing past Bucky none too gently. “We’re leaving.”

“Yes, dear,” Sam chirps back with a grin, slapping Bucky on the back on his way through.

Bucky, though, his eyes are glued to the naked guy in a cake, his _boyfriend_ and _holy shit,_ he suddenly realizes,the best thing that’s ever going to happen to him.

(He should maybe take a page out of Sam's book and just go ahead and pop the question, ring be damned. Because Clint's nearly as stubborn as Stevie, and if that's any indication, that means it's going to fall to Bucky to get their act together.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [promptmewinterhawk](http://promptmewinterhawk.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
